Romance in Color

by Synithia Williams

“I know what I saw, Mr. Frieberg.” Mona rested her palms on the counter of the small outer office of Frieberg Investigations. For the past half hour she, Linc, and Daryl had talked in a circle about her flight from Minneapolis and the sighting of the El Camino yesterday.

  “I still think if he recognized the van he would have returned to town and been waiting for us outside Jack’s.” Linc looked straight at her. “We don’t know where he was going. Hilltop isn’t the only farm on that road.”

  “What other business would a man like Basil have in Crystal Springs?”

  Linc shoved both hands in his jeans pockets. “What about it, Daryl? Daniel boasted he would buy the farm by the end of summer. I don’t see how he’d have the money. It makes me think he was doing something illegal in the barn.”

  Daryl tapped his pen at the bottom of his notes. “The sheriff needs time and space to work. The village grapevine has been quiet about Daniel. That doesn’t rule out illegal activity, but it does imply he didn’t deal local. If—and I stress the word ‘if’—Basil went to Hilltop, he would leave a trace. Everyone does.”

  “It rained,” Mona reminded them.

  “Any tire tracks are lost in all the police vehicles by now. They may have been washed out before Old Joe Larson found his grandson.” Linc gazed out to Front Street. “I didn’t like the tone of some of the questions. At least a few of the deputies have me in the guilty column.”

  “They need evidence.” Daryl pushed away from the counter.

  “We were together. I’m your alibi for the afternoon.” Mona rubbed her arms to counter a sudden chill. Police made her nervous. She’d witnessed one of Matt’s arrests and that was too many.

  “Yes,” Linc agreed. “And I couldn’t ask for a better or more beautiful one. Truth wins in the end, right?”

  “You two go on. Do whatever young people do on a Sunday.” Daryl closed the folder in front of him.

  Mona sat still, aware the investigator’s blue eyes missed nothing.

  “Don’t run.” Daryl’s voice drifted across the counter. “Stay with Lincoln, return to your Minneapolis apartment, or call me. Anything else will paint you guilty.”

  Did this man read people as easily as others skimmed magazines? Or had she lost the ability to hide her intentions? “Since you phrase it like that.”

  “I’ll open a line of communication with the sheriff.”

  A quarter hour later, Mona glanced in the side mirror for the third time in as many miles. “Are we being followed?”

  “Maybe.” Linc slowed and took the truck lane up the next hill.

  Please, no. She grasped her seat belt and turned to look out the undersized windows in the rear doors. A small red sedan continued behind them, ignoring the easy opportunity to pass. “In the movies we’d manage to lose him.”

  “I left my stunt driver hat back in the college dorm. How do you feel about stopping for lunch?”

  “I’m not hungry.” The slab of concrete called breakfast remained whole, merely softened around the edges during the past hour. Any addition would be unwelcome in her stomach.

  “I hear a Coke calling my name.” He accelerated to the speed limit and held steady until they reached the city limits of the largest town on their route.

  “Hope you have an internal compass.” Five minutes and six turns on residential streets later Mona sighted a familiar fast food sign ahead. The red car followed like a trained dog on an invisible leash.

  “Confirming our suspicions. Is this your criminal acquaintance?”

  “I’ve only paid attention to his flashy car.”

  “For my peace of mind, grab my phone from the console. And don’t hesitate to dial the cops if it is Basil and he pulls something, like ramming us.”

  She lapsed into silence as Linc ordered them each a pop in the drive-thru and pulled ahead to the service window. Their tail parked on the edge of the lot. How many different rides did Basil have access to? Matt estimated the organization at well over two dozen dealers and thieves. If even a third of them owned vehicles, Basil could demand use of a variety. “What do we do next?”

  “Drive to Eau Claire.” Linc jabbed a straw into his drink and parked it in the cup holder.

  “So he knows where you live?”

  “I didn’t say anything about driving to the house.”

  “No police.” Mona sipped Sprite and reviewed her interview with Deputy Kingman. She’d followed her own advice of answering every question but volunteering nothing. The officer hadn’t asked much of her history. And while he’d posed three questions concerning the time they’d left the farm and arrived at Jack’s on Saturday, he hadn’t questioned her as to number, makes, or models of vehicles encountered on the trip to town. She tapped her fingertips against the side of her plastic cup and imagined what the official background check would find.

  Daryl described his findings on her as “clean” when asked today. Another farmhouse came in and out of view at the end of a curved drive. Would Matt’s conviction spill over and point police in the wrong direction?

  “Think about a shopping list. It’s ten miles to the store.”

  “We’re buying groceries?” She studied Linc’s profile.

  “My cook mentioned a lack of produce. It’s a public place. On a Sunday afternoon it should be busy enough to raise a problem or two for our uninvited companion.”

  “We still need to go home. Eventually.” Basil wasn’t the sort of person to give up just because they detoured to a supermarket.

  “Before the ice cream melts and the milk goes sour.”

  She surprised herself with a smile. “Guess I know what’s at the top of your shopping list. What else?”

  “Supper. Do you think you’ll be able to make and eat a super-sized salad?”

  “Affirmative on the first part.” Her drink melted more of that hard lump in her stomach but it still strayed far from normal. A vanishing act by the car trailing them was the best medicine she could think of.

  “Good. We’ll stick to basics for the rest. I favor sandwiches for brown bag lunches and quick prep for the other meals. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “No.” Selecting the groceries loomed as another area for uncomfortable questions. Should she encourage him to buy items she enjoyed cooking? Or tell him to ignore her and buy only for one? Staying at his place if she declined his marriage proposal would be cruel. Then again, she’d neither finalized nor presented her conditions to accept. The entire question had slipped down in priority the instant police cars on the farm came into view.

  Ten minutes later Mona walked beside Linc toward the main entrance of a large, colorful supermarket sign. “Start with salad greens?”

  He claimed a cart and headed toward a display of local strawberries and California grapes. While he selected from the daily specials, she tucked three varieties of leaf lettuce into plastic bags and stashed them in the cart’s child seat.

  “Radishes.” He pointed.

  Yes, sir. She nodded silent approval as he bagged a small purple cabbage. When the basics for grand salads rested in the cart they moved around the corner to the dairy department and a dozen aisles of boxed, canned, and frozen foods.

  “Frozen juice.” He appeared to consult a mental checklist. “Oh, did you use the last jar of spaghetti sauce Friday?”

  “I didn’t see another. Do you want the same kind again?” She waited for his nod before backtracking two aisles to pasta, sauces, and box dinners.

  She glanced in both directions before turning to face the display of jars. One customer shopped at the other end of the row. Sunday afternoon didn’t appear to be a popular time for shopping in the central aisles.

  “Mona Smith.” Strong fingers wrapped around her upper arm as the deep, harsh voice spoke her name.

  She jerked back half a step and opened her mouth to scream. Basil’s hand pressed across her lips, muffling her voice to a murmur. Her hands opened and the jar of roasted garlic chunky tomato sauce crashed and splattered at her feet.


  “Not a word. Got it?”

  She nodded. She breathed deeply and pulled cigar scent from his skin with a few of her scattered senses.

  “Who is he?” He relaxed the grip on her arm without letting go.

  Mona darted her gaze over his shoulder, behind her, everywhere except his face.

  “What’s Dray to you?”

  “A friend.” She stared at him for the first time after the instant of recognition. How did he know Linc’s name? What else did he know?

  “Did you give him the money?”

  “I … I … don’t have money.” She swallowed down a portion of fear mixed with a plea for Matt’s safety. “I never did. You … got bad info.”

  “Is that what your brother claims?” He squeezed her upper arm tight enough to leave a bruise.

  She opened her mouth and closed it without a sound. Matt didn’t give her details of his freelance work. She laced her fingers as she realized the source of the most recent hospital bill credit. Matt had given her money. In his own mixed-up version of morality, he’d used illegal cash to reduce the family debt.

  “How much?” Basil lowered his voice but invaded her space.

  “Less than five grand. He spent it before his arrest.” She found a bit of courage and looked him in the face. “He claimed it was a freelance job. Same as the night he got arrested with a few hundred on him. You heard all about that incident.” Sweat trickled and stalled at the neckline of her tank top.

  “Then give me information. Recent, since your precious brother was sentenced.”

  “I don’t have any of that either.”

  He curled his lips into a fake smile. “Don’t be so sure.”

  “I’ll scream for the police before I deal drugs or steal for you.” She blinked and tried to banish the rumors that women around Basil had a habit of getting arrested. One convicted felon in the family was more than enough.

  “Comments like that put ideas into a man’s head. I want silence.” He released her arm. “The last time you saw me was at the airport.”

  “But … your car … El—”

  “Not since Thursday afternoon. Got it?”

  “Don’t hurt Matt.”

  “You and Mr. Dray stay deaf, dumb, and blind to a certain incident yesterday and Matt’s safe as the governor himself. Talk, and … well, you’re bright enough to figure it out.”

  Silence instead of money. Relief flowed up from her toes and halted. She and Linc had mentioned the El Camino to Daryl in today’s conversation. The investigator would not forget.

  “Smart girl. We’ll talk again.” Basil turned and hurried to the end of the aisle and out of sight.

  “Hey.” Linc’s single word startled her.

  “Sorry, had a small problem.” She snatched another jar of sauce and stepped out of the mess on the floor. “We’d better find an employee for a wet clean-up in aisle seven.”

  • • •

  Mona reached into the pantry with a long wooden spoon. She stretched out her arm, swept the tool a fraction of an inch above the shelf, and felt it make contact with something in the shadows.

  A moment later she prodded a box of chocolate pudding mix toward the edge. She tipped the container, checking for leaks and searching for the sell-by date. As the first grains of finely powdered milk and cocoa sifted out, she tossed it to the garbage can. She leaned forward again, guiding the spoon along the edge all the way to the back, checking for stray objects. Every square inch of kitchen counter and half of the floor lay covered with cans, boxes, and plastic storage containers from the deep pantry shelves.

  As soon as the perishable groceries were stored, she’d begun this project. If her hands stayed busy, maybe her mind could take a break.

  Basil wants silence. It sounded simple compared to a demand for nonexistent money. But the silence he requested wasn’t hers to grant. Daryl knew from today’s meeting in his office that the red El Camino they’d met on the road belonged to a drug kingpin and it was headed toward Hilltop.

  Not telling Linc of the encounter and request in aisle seven today beckoned as the most sensible idea. She didn’t have the energy at the moment to defend her position against reporting the incident to the police. It wasn’t as if they could arrest the man for following them. She’d find a time to tell him. He tended to be relaxed and most talkative in the evening, over what he called his ritual dish of ice cream before bed.

  Linc wants a wife. She leaned into the pantry and coaxed a can of kidney beans forward. A legal marriage would tie her to Eau Claire—and Crystal Springs. The option of taking the bus to a new place had vanished during the interview on the farm. She couldn’t return to Minneapolis either. A lump of stubbornness lodged in her throat. She longed for freedom of movement, at least the illusion of control over her life.

  Did she want to stay? Live with Linc? Spend every night listening for stray sounds from his side of the wall and—and what? She couldn’t find a word. Expecting? Dreading? Wanting a soft rap on her door?

  She checked the condition of the can in her hand, found the date, and added it to the section of items to keep. Rules. This sudden marriage needs rules. Her skin rippled with the memory of Linc’s hand over hers at the orchard, at supper, unloading groceries. She looked at the closed office door and listened to a printer click as if starting a new assignment. Separate bedrooms floated to the top of her mental list of marriage conditions.

  Once more she bent between the two lower shelves, guided the wooden spoon along the far edge and curled it forward. A loose wad of paper rolled ahead of it.

  She picked up the paper by an exposed edge and moved her hand toward the trash.

  “Hey.” Linc stepped out of the office.

  Mona’s hand waved the paper and it began to uncrumple. A fancy golden letterhead came into view. She gave it one firm shake while tightening her hold on the corner. “What’s this?”

  “Looks like a letter. Where did you …” He gave a low whistle as he gazed over the pantry contents taking over the kitchen. “I thought you were doing a load of laundry.”

  “I was. I am. Multitasking.”

  “Impressive.”

  She sat down on a wooden chair pulled away from the dining table and smoothed the letter. Three lawyer names and the logo of the Wisconsin State Bar Association greeted her above a single-spaced huge paragraph. A large signature in purple ink decorated the bottom. “It’s from your knife-holding friend Tami.”

  “Ex. Ex-girlfriend. Ex-fiancée.” Color matching the label on tomato paste advanced up his neck, gaining inches between each word.

  Mona narrowed her gaze to focus on certain phrases. “She calls you a draconian slave driver.”

  “She was angry when she wrote that.” He stepped beside her and made one attempt to pull the paper away. “I thought I threw it away. That’s where it belongs.”

  “Finder.” Mona jerked the letter out of his reach and scanned further into the mass of words. “Chauvinistic Neanderthal.” She raised her gaze to his face. Which was the true Linc? The oppressive monster of this letter? Or the positive actions of work ethic and kindness of the last few days? “Tami seems to have a good vocabulary. Lawyer?”

  “Paralegal. She used letterhead from her father’s firm.”

  “Leech draining the lifeblood from others before spitting them out.” Mona picked another of Tami’s phrases. “How long did you know each other?”

  “She exaggerates. Two years … maybe a month over that. Why?”

  “Hmmm.” Mona folded the letter into quarters and tucked it into the waistband of her running shorts. Later, away from his direct influence, she’d read the entire rant and do her own sorting of truth from fiction. At the moment a slender thread connected her to the woman. She wanted a little time and space to get acquainted with a girl who would abandon Linc a few weeks before their wedding. She looked at him and realized he’d hardly let her out of his sight since Friday. Did he intend to keep her on an invisible leash?

  “Do
you want help getting this put away again?” He picked up a can and frowned at the label. “I don’t remember buying half of this.”

  “Do the shelves come out? Do you have paper for fresh liners?”

  “Good questions.” He squatted down to examine the bottom of the lowest shelf. A moment later he popped it up, angled it out, and extended it toward her. “You’re taking this cook and housekeeper position seriously.”

  “I’m a thoughtful person.” She propped the plywood square in front of the dishwasher and prepared to grab the next one.

  “Tami.” He tapped the next shelf free. “She didn’t want to live on the farm. Call me stupid or infatuated or blind, your choice. I ignored the signs while Grandmother was alive. I missed other things too.”

  “Like …”

  “She hesitated to set a wedding date. Flirted with my friends. My brother. And his friends.”

  She waited while he changed position and pushed up on the final shelf. In the three days of their acquaintance she was getting used to conversations filled with silent spaces from tiny to elongated.

  “Then Adam moved back in with his parents after college. December. Mid-year graduate. He made a full-time job out of an employment search. Tami skipped flirting and went directly for the software engineer’s vital parts.”

  “He got a job in California.” Mona tested her memory of his sparse comments in the orchard.

  Linc nodded. “Mr. Dense and Trusting … me … finally wised up and confronted her on January twenty-second. It didn’t go well.” He rubbed the scar on his arm. “While I spent hours in emergency getting stitched back together she packed her things and moved in with Adam. I found that … letter … the next day. At least she was decent enough to return her keys.”

  “But—”

  “I changed the locks anyway.”

  “And never thought about her again?” Mona dropped a sponge into a pan of warm water.

  “Not exactly.” He appeared surprised by his own laugh. “I found occasion to curse her regularly for weeks. Now it’s irregular.”

  “Recovering from a wounded heart?”

  “From this distance it’s more like crushed pride. I’ll go look for new paper. Once upon a time I had a roll in the downstairs storage cubby.” And with that, he was gone.